


Ghosts

by countessrivers



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Clark and Bruce do show up, F/M, and everyone is getting along, but they have maybe 4 lines between them, set in a random post-Justice League universe, they mostly just stand in the background looking handsome and concerned, where Clark is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessrivers/pseuds/countessrivers
Summary: On a mission, Diana encounters an enemy that reopens an old wound."There is a magic in the air that sets Diana’s teeth on edge.It feels nothing like the power that suffuses her body when she channels lightning, or the warmth that flows through her when she is connected to Gaea. Instead it feels as if something has gone to rot. The air itself leaves an awful taste in her mouth, and she cannot shake the feeling that they are being watched, like the brush of an icy hand across her temple, down the back of her neck.Even Bruce, mortal that he is, can feel it."





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little Diana/Steve scenario I thought up while listening (re: crying) to the Wonder Woman soundtrack on the way to work yesterday, and for once I actually had enough momentum to write it down when I got home.
> 
> Set in some vague, post-JL universe where Clark is alive, everyone is friends and the Trinity kick butt.

There is a magic in the air that sets Diana’s teeth on edge.

It feels nothing like the power that suffuses her body when she channels lightning, or the warmth that flows through her when she is connected to Gaea. Instead it feels as if something has gone to rot. The air itself leaves an awful taste in her mouth, and she cannot shake the feeling that they are being watched, like the brush of an icy hand across her temple, down the back of her neck.

Even Bruce, mortal that he is, can feel it.

The nature of their enemy has left them at a disadvantage, as the magic that seems to seep from the walls themselves has dulled even Clark’s superior senses. They have been walking for at least twenty minutes, and the further in they move, the more oppressive the darkness begins to feel. Although they know to follow the pipes running along the ceiling towards the access shaft to the inner compound, Clark and Diana fail to notice where the tunnel spits off until they are right on top of the junction. Just as they move to turn right she hears-

“Diana.”

She freezes, rooted to the spot with her heart in her throat. Bruce and Clark are right behind her, alert and ready, because while they should be alone down here, neither of her companions had spoken. No, the voice that had whispered her name was one she had not heard for almost a hundred years.

Peering into the darkness, Diana can see the shadows obscuring the left-hand corridor shift, drifting unnaturally as if they were made of smoke or fog. Soon enough she can make out the details of the brick walls, the uneven ground, the-

“You can see him too right?” Bruce asks, referring to the figure now standing in the mouth of the corridor that had been empty just moments ago. Clark presumably nods, because Bruce continues. “Okay, then where the hell did he come from?”

“I didn’t...things are...muffled down here, but I should have heard him coming. This close I should have heard him-”

Diana is already moving forward. The shadows are still shifting and she is now able to see the figure’s face, the colours of his uniform, his eyes.

(Although she dreams of him often enough, there have been times, over the last century, when Diana fears she is forgetting him. That she is forgetting the exact shade of his hair. The curve of his smile. The blue of his eyes. The sound of his voice. A photo can only show so much).

In this moment, she knows she hasn’t, she couldn’t, because he is here, exactly as she remembers, yet more alive than she has ever dreamt, looking as if he had just stepped off that runway in Belgium. As if he had never gotten on the plane at all.

“Diana,” Steve says again.

Behind her, Diana can hear the crunch of boots on gravel, the soft swish of a cape.

“Diana?” Clark this time. Followed by a low murmur from Bruce. She doesn’t turn back to them, doesn’t look to see the concern, the confusion, the wariness on their faces.

Diana is not a fool. She knows what this is, knows what is happening here and what their enemy is trying to do. But still, she needs to see. Steve is smiling at her. The same smile he had given her in the baths back home. In London. In Veld.

“God, Diana, you have no idea how long I have dreamt of this. Of seeing you again.”

She says nothing, stopping just outside of arm’s reach. He notices, and his smile turns sorrowful.

“I know this is...I mean maybe not the craziest thing either of us have seen, but it’s certainly up there. I mean, what I’m trying to say is that it’s me Diana. It’s me. I don’t know how, but I’m here. I swear it’s me, it’s really me.”

“Why here?” Diana asks. “Why now?”

“I have absolutely no clue,” Steve says. “The last thing I remember is flying the plane high enough to keep the blast radius away from the towns, and then pulling the trigger.” He shrugs, as if he genuinely did not know what was happening here.

“From there, just darkness. All there was, was darkness, for, I don’t know, a century, a millennia, until I heard was your voice. I couldn’t understand what you were saying, but I could hear you, and then, suddenly I could see you, and I knew I had to reach out, to break through whatever this,” he gestures at the shadows that surround them, “is.”

There is a part of Diana that is desperate to believe him, desperate to believe that this is their second chance. “Clark returned,” it says to her. “You saw him dead and buried, and yet here he is. As strong and beautiful and fierce as he ever was. Why not Steve? Why shouldn’t you be allowed to have this?”

“We don’t have much time,” Steve says. “I can feel something pulling me back, but I think we have a chance. I think I have a chance to stay, but I’ll need your help Diana, I’ll need you to do something for me.”

Steve reaches out a hand to her, palm up, not gesturing or beckoning, simply offering.

_Why are they holding hands?_

_Probably because they’re together._

His hand is warm, and it surprises her. She expected the coldness of death, of a shade, and in fact had not expected to be able to touch him at all. He gives their linked fingers a squeeze, and slowly, Diana strokes her thumb down the side of his wrist, until-

_**Thump thump, thump thump.** _

She can feel it, his heartbeat, his pulse, the blood rushing through his veins. All signs of life. Signs that he is here, that he has returned to her.

Diana’s heart breaks all over again. The darkness is cruel in its perfection.

Steve’s other hand moves to rest against her face, but not clutching at her the way he had been on that runway in Belgium, when he pressed the watch into her hand and told her goodbye (told her “I love you”) Instead it is soft; warm and gentle as his thumb brushes across her cheek, wiping away the tears she didn’t even know were falling. If she closes her eyes, she could imagine they were still in Veld, in the square, slowly swaying together in the snow. Or later, in their room in the inn.

He leans towards her, resting his forehead against hers.

“Diana,” he breathes. “Stay with me. Stay here, and we can be together.”

She pulls back, shaking her head.

“I cannot,” Diana says firmly. “I have a duty to-“

“I know,” Steve cuts in, gently, his voice soft and enthralling, pulling her in. “I know about your duty, your sacred oath, but Diana, haven’t you done enough? Haven’t you given enough? When does it end? How much longer can you go on before the war kills you? Kills us all?”

He smiles at her, squeezing her hand again.

“Just stay Diana. Let your friends go and save the world, but stay with me. We can build a family, we can have peace. You just have let go.”

And there it is. The crack, the flaw in the illusion. The image pulled directly from Diana’s head is perfect, everything she could want, and everything she aches for, except for this one detail. Because Steve would never ask her to stop, would never ask her to give up, to put innocent lives at risk. Steve Trevor gave his life to protect those who could not protect themselves, and learned quickly that she would always do the same.

The chill down the back of her spine is still present, the swift glances across her temple a building pressure now that she is concentrating on it, but everywhere else, everywhere she is pressed against Steve, is warm. Warm enough that a small part of her still wants to let go and fall into it. Warm enough that she wants to keep this, just a moment longer.

Resting her head against his shoulder and pulling their linked hands towards her chest, Diana lets her eyes slip closed.

“There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of you,” she whispers, softly scratching the fingers of her free hand through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “That I do not dream of you.”

“I know Diana,” he says. “But I’m here now. And we can be together. You only have to do one thing, and the war will be over. There will be peace, and we can build our life together. Please Diana, stay. Stay because I lo-”

She cuts him off with the press of her lips against his. She cannot bear to hear another word. Cannot bear the lie any longer. She draws back, untangles their hands and rests hers against his chest. Beneath her palms she can feel the thumping of his heart, a perfect mimicry. As sweet as this dream is, as much as she understands now why so many have walked happily to their deaths on the shadow’s promise, it rings hollow. And there is still work to be done.

“Oh my love,” Diana sighs. “You are not real.

She digs her nails into the fabric of his uniform.

“You are gone and there is nothing I can do to bring you back you me.”

There is no sound, no shift in the air to signal a change. The illusion of Steve Trevor is simply there one moment, and gone the next.

Diana breathes in once, twice, and does not open her eyes. She feels as if she has been torn open. Feels wounded and raw in a way she hasn’t been in a very long time. But more than that, she is angry. There is a fire burning in her gut, flamed by the thought of Steve’s image, his memory, being profaned in such a way. She cannot abide that this darkness has taken her love and her grief, and sharpened it into a weapon to confuse her, seduce her, pull her from her path.

She will not allow it. Instead, she will do as she has always done – take her loss and fashion it into a shield she will use to defend. She will take Steve’s sacrifice, Antiope’s, all the others, and let it drive her forward.

She takes a moment to centre herself, focusing on the brick in front of her, and clenching her fists hard enough to leave red crescents imprinted on her palms. As she breathes out, she feels, rather than sees, Bruce approach. Diana turns, no attempt made to wipe away the tears drying on her cheeks. These are her friends, her comrades-in-arms, and so she will not hide from them.

“Was that...?” he trails off. “It was not him,” Diana replies. “But yes.”

Even without enhanced hearing, both Bruce and Clark were close enough to hear the words passed between Diana and the shade. Bruce knows who Steve Trevor was, knows some of what he was to Diana, and is smart enough to guess the rest. He says nothing else, but beneath his mask, his eyes are kind. When she glances past his shoulder, Clark offers her an encouraging, but sad smile. It is as much comfort as they can afford right now, and she knows he is thinking of what might have happened had the darkness called his name, and who might have done the calling.

He has ghosts of his own. They both do.

“We should keep moving,” she says, adjusting her shield across her back. “We are making our way almost blind and the others are waiting for our signal.”

She turns her back to the now empty corridor, and starts walking.


End file.
